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merryfuture2023-07-12 01:24 pm
staygame) wrote in merryfuture2023-07-12 01:24 pm
Entry tags:
2gether: the most beautiful part of your body is where it's headed (2020)
the most beautiful part of your body is where it's headed (ao3 link, see original work for author's notes) | 2gether the series, sarawat/tine, explicit, 9.1k words
tags: alternate universe - different first meeting, hook-up, canon related, no archive warnings apply
---
On his way back from the bathroom, someone launches himself at Tine with so much force that the two of them nearly go down in a pile of limbs.
"Sorry, got excited," the guy says, brushing invisible dirt off of Tine's shoulder as he rights the two of them. "Hey, Tine, we need a fourth player for beer pong. You in?"
This close, Tine can smell the beer on Man's breath. He recognizes Man mostly as the guy who was really into Tine's brother a few years ago, but that's the extent of their connection. The party, some university-sponsored mixer themed around Valentine's Day, is full of other seniors that Tine's never met, including the other guy waiting at the ping pong table that Man gestures to. Tine hadn't even wanted to come, but Pear had convinced him.
Tine opens his mouth to protest, but Man drags him along, surprisingly sturdy considering how he'd just barrelled into Tine moments before. "Fine," Tine says mostly to himself. He has the feeling that resistance is futile. "I'll play."
Man deposits Tine across from a tall guy picking something out of his teeth with his pinky nail. "Where'd Sarawat go?" Man asks him, and the other guy shrugs. The name sounds weirdly familiar.
"I'm here," Tine hears behind him. He turns, and he's met with a face like something out of a 90s rom-com. Sarawat has teen heartthrob energy all over him, from the long hair that flops softly in front of his face to the way he holds himself, his posture casually cool. Tine is not a teenager anymore but his heart does throb at the sight. It's either that or the chili prawns he'd had earlier.
"This is Tine," Man says to Sarawat.
Sarawat nods at Tine. "You any good?" he asks, leaning into Tine's space for a private conversation.
"Honestly, my aim is shit," Tine confesses.
"Tine's a five-time beer pong champion," Sarawat announces to Man and the other guy, Boss. "You'd better watch your backs."
The attempt at intimidation doesn't pan out. Tine's aim actually is shit and he's downed three cups of beer before he actually makes a shot.
"Here," Sarawat says, coming to stand behind Tine. He reaches across Tine's chest to wrap a hand around his wrist. His face is near enough for Tine to feel the puffs of breath on his cheek. "Like this," Sarawat says. He pulls Tine's forearm back, then releases it in a gentle glide. "You'll want more arc in your shot."
Tine doesn't breathe until Sarawat steps back. The beers seem to hit him all at once and he knows that he's gone red in the face, not just from the rush of intoxication. "Thanks for the tip," he says. "I'm not sure it's going to help."
"It'll totally help," Boss says from across the table, shooting Tine a very sarcastic OK gesture.
"You've got this," Sarawat tells Tine.
Tine aims for one of the cups closest to their side of the table, imitating the arc that Sarawat had shown him. For one precarious moment, no more than a half of a second, the ping pong ball spins around the cup's inner rim, threatening to bounce back out, before it splashes into the full cup. "Fuck yes," Tine shouts.
Sarawat slings an arm over Tine's shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. His hold is firm, crushing Tine to his chest in a way that Tine hasn't been hugged for a while, like that single sunk cup has made Sarawat's entire night. Like they're already friends. It's kind of weird, but Tine doesn't mind.
"Uh, guys," Man says, "you're still losing."
The game ends with Sarawat and Tine having downed all ten beers. Man and Boss perform a victory dance that appears choreographed and involves a lot of hip thrusting. "Man spends too much time on TikTok," Sarawat explains grimly. To the two of them, he says, "Stop, you're scaring Tine."
"You're fine," Tine says, averting his eyes from Man's spanking motions, mildly horrified at the thought of Man with his brother. "I'm going to go find my friends." Sarawat is still looking at him, so he adds, "I'll catch you later?"
"I'll be around," Sarawat says, nodding.
Tine is accosted again as soon as he turns the corner. Phuak grabs him by the arm and Ohm pushes him from behind as Fong, the only person with a shred of normalcy among them, watches. They dump Tine at an empty table and slam a drink down in front of him.
"Since when do you know Sarawat?" Phuak asks.
"I don't?" Tine says.
"You looked like you were getting along," Fong says.
Tine lifts his beer, then sets it down. "How do you know Sarawat?"
"Buddy, people on Facebook sell his used water bottles," Ohm says, already typing furiously on his phone. "Everyone knows who Sarawat is."
Ohm holds up his phone. Tine isn't sure what he expected—it's a picture of an empty plastic bottle. ♥ Sarawat's water bottle from winter carnival show! Only serious offers! ♥ He skims the comments below, where two girls named Miaw and Nan appear to be in a bidding war. "1,000 baht?" Tine asks, eyes bulging.
"You're a cheerleader, how have you not heard of Sarawat?"
Tine shrugs. The name had sounded familiar, but Tine feels like he would've remembered a face like that. "I don't know. Being oblivious is kind of my thing, you know?" After all, it had taken him four months to realize that the girl he liked freshman year was dating another girl, and when he'd told his friends, expecting this to be a big revelation, they'd all looked at him like duh. "Anyway, we were just playing beer pong."
"Do you think you can get him to introduce us to some of his fans?" Ohm asks. He turns his phone to Tine again, showing him an Instagram picture of a reasonably good looking girl. "She's part of Team Sarawat Wives."
"I'm not going to bug him," Tine says. He feels off all of a sudden, like something heavy is sitting on his chest and he doesn't know what to do with his hands for some reason. He stands, downing the rest of his beer in one chug. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Tine doesn't go to the bathroom. He wanders around, aimless, until he ends up running into Pear and her girlfriend at the bar and they spend ten minutes chatting. "Earn's the president of the music club now," Pear tells him, beaming proudly at Earn.
"I'm the only one who wanted the job," Earn says, with the sort of false modesty that says yeah, and I also deserved it.
Tine watches as Pear catches Earn's hand in hers, their delicate fingers intertwining, and that weird, sinking feeling returns with a vengeance. It's not like he still likes Pear or anything, because that was freshman year and he's had other crushes since then, but he doesn't understand why seeing the two of them together kind of hurts.
"That's awesome," he says. Then, falling back on the same line he'd used earlier, he excuses himself. "I've got to go to the bathroom. Let's catch up sometime."
He heads for the door to the patio, rubbing his palms against his eyes. The beer is getting to him, a fog clouding his brain. When he opens his eyes, Sarawat is standing in front of him.
"Are you okay?" Sarawat asks, reaching out to steady Tine with a hand at his elbow.
"I'm fine," he says, "just going to get some air."
"I'll come with you."
Sarawat holds the door open for Tine. There are a few people milling around the patio; a group of dudes smoking cigarettes around a picnic table, a couple having an argument in hushed, bitter tones in the corner. The music from the club is muffled as the door shuts behind them, and Tine sucks in a breath of fresh(-ish) air.
"I'm seriously fine," Tine tells Sarawat. "You can go back with your friends."
"It's cool, I wanted to get some air too," Sarawat says. He settles down on a bench next to Tine.
He's not sitting any closer than they were during the game, but out here, just the two of them, it feels different. Sarawat is looking at Tine, his gaze almost expectant. Tine clears his throat. "So, what's your faculty?"
"Political science, international relations department."
"Very, uh, international," Tine says.
Sarawat laughs. He looks a lot less cool when he smiles, toothy and kind of dopey, but Tine likes that. "That's a word for it. What about you?"
"I'm in the law faculty."
"So you must be smart," Sarawat says.
Tine shakes his head. "Not really. I think I'm actually pretty dumb," he says. "Good thing I'm cute, right?"
"You're cute, but I'm sure you have a lot of other things going for you," Sarawat says, and Tine stops listening after you're cute. The way Sarawat drops his voice, like it's a secret shared between the two of them, makes Tine wonder. But also—maybe he'd just been repeating what Tine'd said. Nothing more.
"What do you like to do?" Tine asks, grasping for something to distract him from the possibility of Sarawat flirting with him. "Like hobbies, I mean. I don't know what I'm asking."
Tine loses track of how long they sit there talking. He can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket, probably texts from his friends asking where he's gone, but he ignores it. Tine learns that Sarawat played football for his faculty team until he hurt his knee, that he plays guitar in a band and serves as the reluctant vice president of the music club alongside Earn. Sarawat smiles fondly when he talks about his two best friends, laughs when Tine makes a joke about Sarawat's name. In turn, Tine talks about his brother, and how he likes cheerleading because he likes making people smile. It's easy to talk to Sarawat, the words flowing naturally between them.
"What kind of music do you listen to?" Sarawat asks when Tine say that he's always wanted to learn to play guitar.
"Scrubb," Tine says.
"And?"
"Just Scrubb?"
Sarawat squints at him. "You only listen to one band?"
"Hey! They're the only band you need," Tine says. He holds up his hand, ticking off on his fingers. "They have songs for happy occasions, songs for when you're sad, songs for being in love. There's a Scrubb song for every situation."
"Is there a Scrubb song for this moment?" Sarawat asks.
"There is, let me think," Tine says, sitting back to take in the mood. They're still mostly alone out here, seated at a bench under a canopy of vines and fairy lights. Tine feels pleasantly floaty instead of dizzy now, sentimental for a time and place that is happening in the present. He thumbs through Scrubb's discography on his phone and stops at Together. "This one."
He presses play. The opening drum beats make him smile. Together has always been one of his favorite Scrubb songs and he was right, it is the song for this moment. Sarawat sings along, mostly under his breath, but Tine can hear the sweetness in his voice, easy on his ears.
"You sing well," Tine tells him.
"Our lead singer is better." Sarawat shrugs.
"No, but I like—" he doesn't know enough about music to put it into words, and he feels dangerously close to saying something stupid instead like I like that thing you're doing with your face when you look at me. He wonders if that would ruin the mood, if all of this is only in his head and Sarawat is just humoring him by not going back inside a half hour ago. "I like your voice," he finishes lamely.
"Then you should hear it properly," Sarawat says. As the song winds down, fading out into a silence that feels audible, Sarawat touches Tine's knee. "Tine, I know this may be forward, but do you want to get out of here?"
"Get out of here?" Tine asks, as though there could be another meaning, because he may be oblivious but he knows what the hand on his knee is implying. He swallows, mouth dry.
Sarawat's thumb traces a slow path along the curve of Tine's knee. "And go back to my place," he says.
Tine could say no. He could go back inside, find his friends, and let them all crash at his place. Sarawat's gesture is not lecherous or overbearing—he's giving Tine an out, the space to say no, and Tine, fear be damned, doesn't want to take it.
"Yeah," he says, "let's go."
Sarawat's apartment is a mess. Tine nearly trips over a pile of boxes before Sarawat turns the lamp on.
"Sorry," Sarawat says, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't expect to have company."
"It's fine," Tine says.
They hadn't spoken much on the taxi ride home. Tine had spent most of the trip staring straight ahead, watching the traffic through the windshield, eyes darting back at Sarawat every now and then. Sarawat was looking back every time.
Here, in the dim glow of a lone desk lamp, Sarawat is still looking at Tine. Something in his gaze sends a shiver down Tine's spine. Sarawat hasn't touched him since that hand on his knee earlier, but Tine can feel Sarawat's eyes on him like the brush of fingers against his skin.
Tine doesn't move, so it's up to Sarawat to take a step forward. He winds an arm around Tine's waist, pulling Tine in until their bodies are nearly flush against each other. "Hi," Sarawat says in a low voice.
"Hi," Tine says back.
"You good?" Sarawat asks.
They'd spent so long talking that Tine's buzz has mostly worn off by now and his head is clear. He knows what he's doing. "I'm good," he affirms.
Sarawat leans in first, but Tine meets him halfway, slanting their mouths together. Tine has kissed other people before, but none of those kisses have made him weak in the knees like this. He reaches up, grasping Sarawat by his upper arms, something to steady him. Sarawat's mouth parts, tongue swiping along Tine's lower lip and Tine lets out a noise from the back of his throat, a whine. In response, Sarawat lifts his hands to Tine's face, kissing him harder, with intent behind it.
"Do you want to—" Sarawat asks, gesturing back to the bed, and Tine whimpers back a yes.
Sarawat's bed is just a mattress on the floor, sheets tangled at the foot of it. Tine ends up on his back with Sarawat climbing over him, knees straddling either side of Tine's hips. Sarawat's bangs flops down in his eyes as he leans down to kiss Tine, and his hair tickles Tine's forehead. Tine lets his hands slip under Sarawat's jacket, sliding it back and over his shoulders.
They pull apart long enough for Sarawat to get his jacket the rest of the way off and then he's grasping at the hem of Tine's shirt, tugging it up until most of Tine's chest is exposed. Sarawat stops moving, his hand stilling on Tine's abdomen.
"What?" Tine asks. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, the heavy thump of it, a combination of arousal and nerves.
"You're just," Sarawat says, "a lot."
"Is that a good thing?" Tine asks, gasping as Sarawat brushes a thumb over one of his nipples.
Sarawat ducks his head, laughing. "It's a very good thing," he says, and lowers his mouth to Tine's neck. He sucks wetly on the skin under Tine's jaw, long and hard enough that Tine knows it will leave a mark.
Tine lifts his hand, tangling his fingers in Sarawat's hair. He can feel Sarawat's cock hardening. Tine spreads his legs and Sarawat grinds down, his hand squeezing around one of Tine's thighs for leverage. The friction of it has Tine wanting more—more skin on skin, more touching. "What do you want?" Tine asks.
"Anything you'll give me," Sarawat says. His voice is soft, full of sincerity that feels too big for the moment. "I want to taste you. Can I?"
"Fuck," Tine breathes out. "Yes, yes."
As Tine tugs his shirt up over his head, Sarawat fumbles with Tine's button and zipper. Even the brush of his hand against the bulge of Tine's cock has Tine arching his back, stretching up for more. When his pants are finally off and Sarawat touches him, no fabric in the way, just his warm, calloused hand around the length of Tine's dick, Tine makes a strangled noise.
If Sarawat looked good at the club earlier, he looks even better now with his mouth, kiss-swollen and parted, hovering over Tine. He's still watching Tine when he lowers his head to suck around the tip of Tine's cock. His mouth moves impossibly slow, lips trailing down to the base of Tine's cock, slick with spit. He's teasing. Just as Tine thinks he might knee Sarawat in the face if he doesn't do something, Sarawat swallows down around Tine's length.
Tine curses. He's got his hands in Sarawat's hair again, pulling on the strands as Sarawat takes more of him into his mouth. Tine can't stop himself from pushing his hips up and there's an apology on the tip of his tongue, a fuck, sorry, but Sarawat takes it, a muffled moan around Tine's cock. Sarawat likes this as much as he does, Tine realizes. The thought makes his brain go fuzzy.
"Wait," he says, touching Sarawat's jaw. Sarawat blinks up at him. "I want you to—"
Sarawat pulls off Tine's cock, his chin wet. "You want me to fuck you?" Sarawat asks, letting his fingers trail along Tine's inner thigh. Tine doesn't know how Sarawat can say something like that so easily when the thought makes Tine flush hot all over, but then again, Sarawat has been the one leading Tine this whole evening.
"Yeah," Tine says. He swallows thickly. "If you want."
"I want," Sarawat echoes. He gets his clothes off quickly, while Tine lies there, feeling exposed without the heat of Sarawat's body on top of him. Sarawat leans over him to root around in his bedside table and tosses back a bottle of lube and a condom.
"How do you want—" Sarawat makes a series of vague hand motions that make Tine laugh. He doesn't remember if he's ever laughed while hooking up with someone. "I'm asking what's good for you."
"Anything," Tine says. He means it.
Sarawat smacks a hand against Tine's thigh, not hard enough to sting but Tine isn't sure he would've minded. "Okay then," Sarawat says, nudging Tine onto his stomach. "Like this?"
Tine sucks in a breath that's muffled by the pillow. "This is good."
His body gives a small jerk when Sarawat touches him, a palm flat against the middle of Tine's back. He can feel Sarawat waiting until he relaxes, then Sarawat's hand dips lower, fingers trailing along each of Tine's vertebrae until he reaches the swell of his ass. Tine can't see Sarawat from this position, but he can practically feel the heat of Sarawat's eyes on him.
Sarawat leans down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Tine's shoulder blade at the same time that his slicked fingers press against Tine's entrance. He's smooth, Tine has to admit. He pushes one finger past Tine's rim, slow and exploratory. Tine tries not to grind his dick down against the bed. "Don't tease," he whines.
"Patience," Sarawat says, but he adds another finger, sliding them in to the knuckle, opening Tine up.
Tine pushes back against Sarawat's fingers. He wonders if all musicians are this deft with their hands, or if it's just Sarawat who seems to know how to take Tine's body apart. He has Tine gasping, fingers fisting into the sheets, sweat matting his hair against his forehead. By the time Sarawat is pushing the head of his cock inside him, Tine is so close to the edge that one good thrust might send him over. Sex has never been like this before.
Sarawat folds over him, kissing Tine on his neck and his shoulders, biting down and then mouthing over the marks. He's no longer teasing, one hand gripped around Tine's hip for purchase as Sarawat thrusts into him, as though their bodies could get any closer.
"Right there," Tine pants out, spreading his legs wider. He can't get his hand in a position to jerk himself off but it doesn't matter when Sarawat's cock is pushing relentlessly against his prostate and Tine's own dick is rubbing against the bed with every thrust.
Tine comes with a shaky breath, mumbling, "Fuck, Wat." Sarawat's nails scrape down his back as he fucks Tine through it. "Keep going," Tine tells Sarawat, even though there's a mess of come smearing across his abs and his whole body feels oversensitive. It doesn't take long until Sarawat is also groaning, his hips stuttering, and Tine can feel the pulse of his cock as he comes.
Sarawat drops himself down against Tine. He's still inside Tine, which is kind of weird, especially with Sarawat's sweat sticking to Tine, but also kind of hot. Sarawat reaches up and strokes a hand through Tine's hair. "I'll move in a second," he says.
"Don't be lazy," Tine says. "I need to shower."
"I'm going, I'm going." Sarawat drops a final kiss against Tine's shoulder before climbing off of him.
Tine rolls over, peeling himself off of the sheets. There's jizz drying uncomfortably on his stomach, but he feels well-fucked and content. He closes his eyes, taking in the feeling.
"Who's being lazy now?" Sarawat asks, nudging Tine with his foot. "Hey, let's shower together."
Tine cracks an eye to look at Sarawat. The way he's standing blocks out the light from the lamp, fixing out a halo around the top of his head. It makes Tine laugh, because the last word he'd use to describe Sarawat after what they'd just done is angelic. He shakes his head when Sarawat gives him a questioning look. "Just a shower," he warns.
Sarawat salutes him.
Tine wakes up with his face tucked into Sarawat's armpit. There's a smear of drool on Sarawat's skin where Tine's mouth had been open, which is a little gross. Tine rolls over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He picks up his phone to check the time, but his phone refuses to budge from its black screen. Dead.
His movement has Sarawat stirring, sitting up to peer at Tine. His hair had dried all funny, a cowlick in his bangs pointing straight up, but he manages to look effortlessly handsome despite that. "Good morning," he croaks.
"What time is it?" Tine asks.
Sarawat holds up his phone. "Ten past noon."
After their shower, they'd laid awake for hours, mostly talking. There was a brief interlude where Tine, sleepy and unexpectedly affectionate, had rolled over on top of Sarawat and kissed him, but it'd devolved into slow, easy pecks before anything more happened. Tine had never talked to a hookup like this. He'd never fought his own impulse to sleep just to hear someone tell a boring story from high school, or let someone he'd slept with sing him a song in the dark.
"How do you feel?" Sarawat asks.
"Good," Tine says. "Last night was fun."
Sarawat gives him a satisfied look. "Do you want to go get something to eat?"
The whole night before, Tine had resisted sleep because he didn't want the moment to end. It hadn't occurred to him that morning wouldn't mean it was over. "Sure. Can I charge my phone for a bit?"
"My charger is over here."
Tine has to lean over Sarawat to reach the charging cable. As he does, Sarawat catches one of his nipples in his mouth, tongue swiping over it. "Hey," Tine says, embarrassed when it comes out more breathless than stern.
"This is a good view," Sarawat says, tugging Tine on top of him. "Stay here."
Sarawat grazes his teeth over Tine's hardened nipple, then soothes over it with his mouth, lips sucking. At the same time, he touches the other one with his hand, pinching Tine's nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations have Tine's arms shaking where they're propping him up. Heat floods to his cheeks as Sarawat kisses across his sternum to take the other nipple in his mouth.
"You're a pervert," Tine says, a whimper catching in his throat on the last syllable.
"I'm a boobs man," Sarawat says. Tine can feel the rumble of his voice against his chest.
Tine glares at Sarawat, the effect of which is lessened by the fact that he's grinding down against Sarawat's thigh. "These are muscles," Tine says.
"You have great boobs," Sarawat says, ignoring Tine. His tongue draws a circle around one of Tine's nipples, wet and messy. "I want to die right here."
Then, Sarawat is slipping a hand into Tine's underwear, wrapping his hand around Tine's cock. "Can I get you off?" Sarawat asks, like Tine would say no, like Tine would turn down anything Sarawat offered him right now. When Tine nods, Sarawat yanks Tine's underwear down until his cock is exposed and then he pushes up against Tine, wriggling his own boxers down his thighs.
Sarawat licks his palm, his hand wet when he fits it around both of their cocks. He jerks them both off like this, precum smearing wetly between them. His free hand grips Tine's ass, fingers pressed teasingly against Tine's rim.
Tine bends down to kiss Sarawat, a whimper muffled against Sarawat's mouth as he comes all over Sarawat's fist and his cock. It takes a few more strokes for Sarawat to come and this time Tine gets to see it, the way his face screws up in pleasure, head thrown back against the pillow and his hair fanned out underneath him.
When Sarawat opens his eyes, he grins up at Tine, looking very much pleased with himself. His face makes something ache in Tine's chest, tenderness blooming and filling the space where Tine's air should be. He doesn't kiss Sarawat again, because he's afraid that they'll never get out of bed at this rate, but he wants to.
Tine forgets to turn on his phone until they're sitting at a cafe near campus. He takes a sip of his Blue Hawaii ("Drinks should not be neon blue," Sarawat had said when the waitress brought it out, to which Tine had replied, "It's delicious, fuck you") and watches the unread messages roll in.
Ohm (23:04): where did you go?
Phuak (23:08): we're leaving soon
Ohm (23:08): text us back
Fong (23:45): did you get home okay?
Ohm (23:56): r u dead???
Phuak (00:02): did u go home with someone?
Phuak (00:02): lucky dog
Fong (9:13): hey, let us know that you're okay
i'm fine, Tine fires off, i'm going home today. i'll see u guys tomorrow, and then he shoves his phone back into his jeans pocket. It's not that he wants to lie, but he's not ready to face the inevitable conversation when he tells them where he's actually been.
Sarawat is watching him, silently sipping on his own Americano, but if Tine's guilty conscience is visible, he doesn't say anything. "You look good in my shirt," Sarawat says, pointing to the black t-shirt that he'd thrown at Tine before they left his dorm.
Tine looks down at the table, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks. "Do you say shit like that to everyone?" he asks.
"Just you," Sarawat says without hint of self-consciousness. "Besides, no one's ever worn my clothes before you."
Thankfully, the waitress swings by with their plates of fried rice before Tine can overthink the implications of Sarawat's words.
They're chatty on the walk back to Sarawat's dorm, Tine full and pleased and swinging another Blue Hawaii in his hand as he walks, but by the time they reach the door, they've both fallen silent.
"So," Sarawat says.
"So," Tine echoes.
They've been together for more than 12 hours now. Tine should go back to his room, change out of Sarawat's shirt and boxers, and work on his reading for Professional Responsibility. Instead, he casts his eyes around Sarawat's room, looking for some excuse to stay. He spots Sarawat's guitar leaned against the wall. "Hey, remember how I said I've always wanted to learn guitar?"
"Yes," Sarawat says before Tine's even finished his sentence. Then, apparently embarrassed to have been caught being so eager, he says, "I mean, I can't promise I'll be a good teacher."
Tine sits on Sarawat's bed with the guitar in his lap, Sarawat next to him.
"We'll start with C chord," Sarawat says. He guides Tine's fingers to the right strings on the fretboard, his hand warm and calloused against Tine's. "Use the tips of your fingers so you're not touching any other strings. Now strum."
Tine presses down, but the sound is clearly off. "Harder," Sarawat says, pointing to Tine's fingers. Tine tries again, and Sarawat repeats, "Harder."
"You're milking this, aren't you?" Tine asks, glaring at Sarawat over his shoulder.
Sarawat gives him a look like, who me? "Keep going with the C chord."
As Tine continues to play, tentatively plucking each string while also trying not to let his fingers on the fretboard falter, Sarawat scoots in closer. He leans himself against Tine's back, arm draped around Tine's shoulder. Tine can feel Sarawat's breath on his neck.
"G chord," Sarawat says, guiding Tine's fingers. There's something weirdly intimate about it, all of Sarawat's attention on him. Heat stirs in Tine's chest. "You can play almost any song you want with just a few chords. Even your beloved Scrubb."
"How long have you been playing guitar?" Tine asks, trying to be normal.
"Ninth grade." Sarawat tucks his chin against Tine's shoulder. "I begged my mom to get me lessons because I wanted to be like Desktop Error."
"Do you write your own songs?" Tine asks. His fingers have gone lax against the strings.
"Yeah," Sarawat says, "but those are private."
Sarawat tilts his head, pressing his mouth to Tine's neck. "You're doing it wrong," he says, letting his teeth scrape against Tine's skin, like he's not the reason that Tine can't concentrate. Sarawat, Tine has decided, is a menace to society.
"Then quit trying to get in my pants," Tine says, jamming his elbow back into Sarawat's chest.
"Okay, okay," Sarawat says.
(Sarawat gives up for all of about 30 seconds before diving back in, tilting Tine's head back for a kiss. The guitar ends up abandoned on the floor as Tine drags Sarawat down on top of him, hands already skimming under the hem of Sarawat's shirt to touch the hard muscle of his stomach. Sarawat mumbles something about demonstrating the manual dexterity required of a guitarist and then proceeds to show him. Tine hasn't come this many times in a 24-hour period since he was 15 and discovered PornHub.)
It's already evening by the time Tine gets up from the bed, tugging on the fresh boxers that Sarawat had thrown at his head. They've already had sex three times, and Tine is pretty sure that he's pushing the limit on how long a hook-up is supposed to stick around the next day.
"I should get out of here," Tine says.
Sarawat grabs him by the wrist. "You can stay."
"I don't know," Tine says. Maybe Sarawat is just being polite or something. "You probably have shit to do. I'm being a nuisance."
"There is nothing I would rather be doing more than hanging out with you," Sarawat says, his expression oddly serious. The intensity of his gaze makes Tine look away. "I have a bottle of whiskey I need to finish anyway."
"Are you sure?"
Sarawat's thumb strokes over Tine's wrist bone, soft and imploring. "Stay."
When Sarawat had said that he had a bottle of whiskey to finish, Tine hadn't expected him to mean a nearly full bottle of Mekhong. Tine is a lightweight, something he has not managed to fix with nearly four years of university under his belt. He can already feel the beginnings of a buzz before he's finished the first cup of Coke and Mekhong that Sarawat's poured him.
"Let's play a game," Tine demands.
"What game?"
Tine springs up from the couch, banging his knee against Sarawat's coffee table on the way. He doesn't let that stop him. He finds his jeans where he'd tossed them earlier and roots around in the pocket until he pulls out a 5 baht coin with a triumphant ha!
"The objective is to bounce the coin into the cup," Tine says, depositing an empty glass from Sarawat's cabinet onto the coffee table. He gestures for the handle of whiskey. "If you miss, you have to drink. If you make it, I have to drink. Got it?"
"If I make it, what if I want something else?" Sarawat asks.
"Depends. What do you want?"
Sarawat makes a squeezing gesture, his eyes aimed pointedly at Tine's chest.
Tine folds his arms over his chest. "You've already done more than that."
"I told you, I'm a boobs man," Sarawat says, shrugging.
"Fine," Tine concedes. "But if I make it in, I get to ask you a question. Deal?"
Tine's aim is barely any better than it had been during beer pong, but then Sarawat's aim isn't great either. It doesn't really matter; they're having fun. The Coke runs out before long and drinking cups of straight whiskey flavored with the dregs of soda for missed cups. Sarawat is the first one to land a shot and he's much too eager to give Tine's left pec a firm honk. Tine's laughing when he makes his next shot, barely paying attention, but naturally, this is the one that lands.
Now, faced with the pressure of coming up with a question, Tine's mind draws a blank. "Um, when you were trying to show me how to play beer pong—were you flirting with me?"
"Yes," Sarawat answers.
"Did you know then that you wanted to take me home?" Tine asks.
"One question," Sarawat says. "Your rules."
Fuck the rules, Tine wants to say, because it suddenly feels important to know if Sarawat knew that he wanted Tine from the start, but Sarawat only gives him a smug look as he fishes the coin out of the cup.
Three shots later, Sarawat's coin plinks into the open cup.
Tine huffs a sigh and spreads his arms wide. "Go for it," he says.
This time, Sarawat doesn't just squeeze. His fingers dig into the flesh of Tine's underarm, tickling. Tine squirms away, laughing, and this only eggs Sarawat on. He leans into Tine, using both hands to stroke the sensitive skin along Tine's sides. "Stop," Tine wheezes, flopping back against the couch.
He throws an arm over his face as he tries to catch his breath, still laughing. Then, Tine hears the click of a camera shutter, and he abruptly stills.
When he lifts his arm, he sees Sarawat grinning fondly at his phone, aiming it at Tine. "Don't," Tine says.
"What?" Sarawat asks. He's typing something now and Tine feels a lump forming in his throat.
"Don't post it."
"Why? You look cute," Sarawat says, turning his phone around to show Tine the picture of him. His face is partially covered but it's obvious that he's laughing. In the picture, the hem of his shirt (not his shirt—Sarawat's shirt) has ridden up to reveal a strip of his belly.
"It's not that," Tine says, tugging down the shirt as he sits up. "I don't want my friends to know that I'm with you." As soon as the words leave his mouth, Tine knows that he's fucked up. Sarawat's face goes tense, his mouth set in a straight line, the night's playful mood gone in an instant.
"It's not because of you," Tine says, grasping at anything to fix the sour look on Sarawat's face. "My friends don't know that I'm—"
"That you're what, Tine?"
"That I'm bi," Tine says in a quiet voice.
Here's the thing: if Tine tells his friends one secret, then the rest will come spilling out. Like how during the freshman year carnival he'd let an architecture student named Chat kiss him behind the education building, and how that, his first kiss with a guy, had made his legs feel like jelly, and how he'd known then. And how he'd only started dating Wan to prove to himself that he could still do it and that he'd actually really liked her, which made it even more confusing, because he'd never known anyone that liked both. And how this wasn't the first time that he'd lied about who he'd gone home with, which made him feel like shit.
"I just don't want the way anyone looks at me to change."
"You know, it's kind of messed up that you're willing to sleep with men but you're not willing to admit to it," Sarawat bites out.
"Why does it matter to you anyway?" Tine asks. "I'm sorry you can't post a picture of the guy you hooked up with?"
Sarawat laughs, small and bitter. "Is that all I am to you?"
Tine doesn't say anything, because he doesn't know how to answer the question. Sarawat stands up and crosses the room to sit on his bed.
"Do you want me to leave?" Tine asks.
"No."
Tine lies back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His face feels hot like he might start tearing up if he doesn't reel his emotions back in. He's equal parts mad at himself for ruining the mood and mad at Sarawat for not getting it. On the other side of the room, Sarawat is quiet for so long that Tine is sure he's fallen asleep, until he's dragging himself and his comforter over the couch.
"Scoot over," he demands.
"What are you doing?"
"You're going to get cold," Sarawat says. He tucks himself into Tine, a bony elbow jabbed into Tine's side and a knee narrowly missing his balls. It isn't until the warmth of Sarawat's body is surrounding him that Tine realizes he had been shivering.
"Thanks."
The silence stretches out between them again. Tine closes his eyes and focuses on the noise of the aircon, the feeling of Sarawat's hand against his waist. For the last day, he'd been wrapped up in the moment, the space next to Sarawat a place where no one else could reach him. It was stupid to think they could keep going without letting the outside world in.
Finally, Tine swallows around his discomfort and asks, "Are you gay or bi?"
"I'm gay," Sarawat says.
"And you—how did you know?"
"I never really had crushes," Sarawat says. "I thought I liked this girl in my class, but I never did anything about it. And then freshman year, I saw this guy, and everything I felt about him in a moment was stronger than anything I'd ever felt before. I knew that was what it was supposed to feel like when you actually liked someone."
"Did you confess?" Tine asks.
Sarawat's hand squeezes tighter. "No, I never did."
"I didn't always know," Tine says, "and for a long time I thought that meant that I was wrong, or just confused." He's never talked about any of this out loud. "But now I know. Who I am and stuff. You—you're not an experiment or anything. I'm just bad at speaking up."
"Hey," Sarawat says. His hand touches Tine's head, fingers carding through his hair. It's comforting. "Just go to bed, nuisance."
Tine closes his eyes, and lets Sarawat's fingers in his hair lull him to sleep.
"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" Tine asks as he pulls on the third pair of boxers that Sarawat has offered him at this point. "You're going to run out of clean clothes."
Sarawat steps closer, lifting the towel from Tine's neck to begin patting his hair dry. "Tine, if I wanted you to leave, I would tell you."
Tine had been the first to stir that morning, eyes squinting at the sun streaming in through Sarawat's gauzy curtains. He wasn't sure how Sarawat would react with their fight behind them, but he'd only wrapped his arms around Tine's middle and tugged him in for a kiss, no different than the morning before. He'd then rolled over and gotten up to make them omelettes with the last three eggs in his fridge, so Tine guessed that meant they were okay.
Sarawat had sat next to him on the couch while they ate, knees knocking against Tine's. He was eating with his eyes half-closed, bedhead a mess. Tine had thought that he could get used to waking up like this, and then he reprimanded himself for getting invested in what is ultimately just a hook-up, because Sarawat is going to be tired of him real soon probably.
"Do you want to go somewhere? Like actually leave your apartment today?" Tine asks.
"I have you here, why would I need to leave?" Sarawat says, letting the towel flop down in front of Tine's face.
"You really want to spend the whole weekend inside?" Tine scoffs.
Tine hadn't meant to guilt trip Sarawat, but he'd started rummaging around in a pile in the corner and emerged holding a football, looking at Tine with an eyebrow raised.
The park near Sarawat's dorm is surprisingly empty for a Sunday. Sarawat leads Tine to an empty patch of grass, then promptly begins showing off by juggling the football on his sneaker.
"I thought you couldn't play," Tine asks.
Sarawat lets the ball fall to the ground, then uses the side of his foot to pass it to Tine. "I can play, just not competitively," he explains. "So don't tackle me or anything."
It's clear that Sarawat isn't giving it his all as they pass the ball back and forth, but Tine can see from the way he moves that he must've been good. Tine's only football knowledge is what he's picked up from cheering on the sidelines of games; none of his friends are jocks and his older brother had turned up his nose at the idea of outdoor activities from an early age. Sarawat, meanwhile, looks like a natural athlete. Tine watches him lift his shirt to wipe his forehead, abs shiny with sweat, and suddenly feels immensely jealous of anyone who got to watch him before his knee injury.
Sarawat meets Tine's eye when he drops his hem, catching Tine in the act of staring.
"You think just because you have a fanclub that you're good looking or something," Tine bluffs.
"And you don't?" Sarawat asks.
Tine shrugs, faux casual. "You're alright."
For that, Sarawat kicks the ball directly at him. Tine dodges around it with a "Hey!"
It's too hot to play for much longer. Tine collapses first down onto the grass and then Sarawat follows him down, sweaty arm pressed against sweaty arm as they lie on the ground. When Tine turns his head, Sarawat is grinning up at the sky.
On an impulse, chest clenching at the sight of Sarawat's happy expression, Tine asks, "Did you bring your phone?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Let's take a selfie," Tine says.
Sarawat looks at Tine out of the corner of his eye.
"I've decided that I'm tired of hiding," Tine says, and makes a hurry up gesture with his fingers before he lets himself take it back.
Sarawat stretches the phone up above them. Tine presses in closer, tilting his head towards Sarawat's, and smiles.
Tine is pleasantly exhausted when they get back to Sarawat's dorm. Fresh air and sunshine had done them well. He collapses down onto Sarawat's couch, not caring that his shirt (well, Sarawat's shirt) is sticky with sweat.
"Here," Sarawat says, placing a mug of water down in front of Tine.
"Thanks," Tine says. "Hey Wat, let me see those pictures you took."
Sarawat unlocks his phone and hands it to Tine. "I'm going to the bathroom."
The most recent photo they'd taken has the two of them pulling faces—Sarawat winking at the camera and Tine grimacing, a peace sign held up next to his squinted eyes. Tine swipes to the next picture, which is blurry and out-of-focus, then to the next one. It's this version of Sarawat's face that Tine likes the best. He's smiling, lips parted to show his teeth, cheeks soft and flushed. Tine'd had to make a joke to get this smile out of him. In the picture, Tine's gaze is turned to Sarawat. His chest tightens looking at the photo, his own unmasked affection captured in that moment.
He's pretty sure you're not supposed to feel this way about a one-night-stand, or a two-night-stand, or whatever they are at this point.
Tine thumbs through to the next picture, laughing to himself at the contrast between Sarawat's candid smile and the cool expression he'd initially worn. He swipes again, but the picture isn't one from today. Tine almost swipes back to their selfies, except he realizes something.
It's a picture of him.
In this picture, Tine's at the library. his head resting on his palm as he reads something off his laptop. It's zoomed in so far that it's gone grainy, only Tine in the picture. Tine doesn't remember when this was, but it's clear he hadn't known anyone was taking his picture. He certainly hadn't known that Sarawat was taking his picture.
"You know, I don't think I even have your Line ID yet," Sarawat says as he re-enters the room, drying his hands on his shorts. "Send those pictures to yourself if you want."
Tine holds up Sarawat's phone. "What's this?" he asks, mouth dry.
Sarawat's eyes go wide. "Tine, I—"
"Why do you have a picture of me on your phone?"
Sarawat jerks his phone out of Tine's hand. "I can explain," he says.
"Then explain."
He sits down on the other side of the couch, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "When I was a freshman, I saw this guy at open house that made me feel something I'd never felt before, but I was too afraid to talk to him, so I just let him go. And then I spent the next three years wondering if I would ever see him, see you again."
Sarawat's voice is soft and distant, like he's remembering that first moment. Tine finds it hard to breathe.
"And then I saw you," Sarawat continues. "In the library. So I took your picture so I wouldn't lose you again. And then it turned out that Man knew who you were because he dated your brother, so I found you on IG. He's the one who asked Pear to get you to come to the mixer, not me."
"So all that stuff you asked me at the beginning, you already knew all of it, huh?"
"It wasn't like that."
He thinks back to Man introducing him at the table, This is Tine, and the way Sarawat had leaned into his space. "You acted like I was a stranger to you. Were you just messing with me?" Tine asks, standing up.
"Tine," Sarawat says, catching Tine's wrist in his hand. "I wasn't trying to trick you."
"You played with my feelings."
Tine's clothes and belongings are scattered around Sarawat's room. He finds his keys in his jeans pocket, yanks Sarawat's charger out of his phone, all while his head is spinning.
Sarawat tries to stop him at the door. "I didn't mean to lie to you."
"Then when did you plan on telling me?" Tine asks. When Sarawat doesn't answer, Tine pushes past him.
Tine's dorm, unsurprisingly, looks the same as it did when he'd left it on Friday night, untouched over the weekend. There's a pile of clothes on the floor next to his bed, shirts he'd tried on before settling on the one that's still somewhere in Sarawat's room.
He sinks down onto his bed. His phone buzzes in his pocket and for a moment, Tine thinks it must be Sarawat, until he remembers that they'd never exchanged Line IDs. Instead, it's Fong checking in on him.
Fong: haven't heard from you
Fong: are you okay?
Tine: can you come over?
Fong shows up within 20 minutes. "What's wrong?" he asks as soon as Tine opens his door, and then, "Whose shirt is that?"
Tine tells him everything. Maybe it's because Fong has always been Tine's closest friend, the most nonjudgmental of their group, or maybe it's just that Tine's been waiting to spill these secrets for longer than he'd realized. Fong takes it in stride, listening without interrupting, placing a comforting hand on Tine's knee when he admits he hadn't wanted to tell them for fear of judgment.
"Can I say something?" Fong says after Tine has explained the picture on Sarawat's phone.
"Yeah."
Fong's words are measured. "Are you really upset about the photo?"
Tine picks at the worn hem of Sarawat's shirt. There's a thread coming loose and he wraps his finger around it. "He could've told me," he says. "Instead of treating me like a joke I wasn't in on."
"Here's what I think. Maybe he went about it the wrong way, but he wanted to get to know you, and love makes people do stupid things."
The word love hits Tine like a punch to the chest. He tugs harder on the thread.
"Is it about him lying to you?" Fong asks. "Or is it that you're scared?"
Tine resents how well Fong knows him.
"You like him," Fong says. "I haven't seen you like someone this much in a long time. I understand why you're mad." He pats Tine's knee again. "But if you want it, don't let the opportunity slip by."
Fong leaves him then ("I think you need some time alone"), and in the privacy of his room, Tine does the one thing that has always made him feel better—he listens to Scrubb. He queues up the entire Club album and closes his eyes.
It doesn't work this time, because now Scrubb and Sarawat are all tangled up in his mind. Every song reminds him of Sarawat's smile, or the easy way he'd laughed at Tine's jokes, or the feeling of their hands intertwining on top of the bed sheets. It doesn't feel fair that Sarawat had come into his life so suddenly and made Tine feel so many things at once. Tine hadn't gotten a say in whether or not he'd been dragged into that game of beer pong, but if it'd been left up to the laws of the universe, if they hadn't met—
Tine remembers what Sarawat had said about seeing him freshman year: everything I felt about him in a moment. Sarawat knew in a split second. The least Tine could do was know after 42 hours.
"Are you back for your pants?" Sarawat asks when he opens the door.
"I'm back for you," Tine says. And maybe also the pants, at some point, because those are his favorite jeans, but that's not what's important right now.
Sarawat tries very hard to keep his face neutral. Tine can tell from the way his jaw clenched and the slight tremor in his hand on the door, holding it open to look out at Tine.
"Can I come in?" Tine asks.
"You're always welcome here," Sarawat says, and moves out of the way.
Tine sits on Sarawat's bed, then immediately realizes he has too much frantic energy coursing through his veins to sit still and stands back up. He'd rehearsed his words on the walk across campus, but now that he's here, with Sarawat watching him from the doorway, the words feel heavy in his throat. "I've never met anyone like you," he ends up blurting out.
This is good. He can work with this. "A lot of people like me," Tine says, "but not a lot of people seem to want to get to know me? And you, you cared. I didn't come to the bar that night expecting to, I don't know. To meet someone like you."
"I do care," Sarawat says, stepping forward. "Tine, I never meant to trick you."
"I know," Tine says. "It doesn't matter if it was a coincidence or not. It matters more that I got to meet you. I've never met anyone who made me want to stay." This is Tine putting his heart before his fears. This is Tine knowing.
Sarawat reaches for Tine's hand and Tine allows him to take it, to let himself be pulled in. "Stay," he says, tracing his thumb over Tine's. "Stay with me and don't ever leave again."
"I have class tomorrow," Tine says.
"I don't care."
"I'm on call in Intellectual Property tomorrow."
"Don't ever leave again," Sarawat repeats, winding his arm around to pull Tine in against his body. "Be my nuisance forever."
Tine tucks his face against Sarawat's shoulder. Sarawat touches strokes a hand down the back of Tine's head, petting him gently. "I like you," Tine says into Sarawat's t-shirt. Maybe it shouldn't be this easy, but maybe Sarawat is what Tine's been waiting for too.
"I'm glad I found you," Sarawat says.
Tine posts the picture to his Instagram on Monday morning, captioned with lyrics from Together that Sarawat had called cheesy, to which Tine had replied, "You say nothing but cheesy stuff."
His friends are waiting for him outside of Intellectual Property. Phuak and Ohm each grab one of Tine's arms, accosting him immediately.
"You said you were at home," Ohm says accusingly.
"I was at someone's home?" Tine says.
Fong crams in next to Phuak. "Guys, give him some space." He grins at Tine. "He's had a busy weekend."
"Shut up," Tine says, wriggling out of their embrace. "I hate all of you."
"Now that Team Sarawat Wives have been rejected, what about his fangirls?" Phuak asks.
Tine ignores him, dropping his backpack down on the table. Thankfully, none of them appear to have noticed that Tine is wearing one of Sarawat's school shirts. Sarawat hadn't been kidding about never letting Tine leave again.
His phone vibrates. When Tine picks it up, it's a collection of new likes on his post. Tine clicks through to Instagram, opening up the picture of him and Sarawat. Looking at it, he can almost feel the warmth of yesterday's sun on his face. one person has changed everything, he'd written, and underneath it, Sarawat's reply: the one who can make me smile.
☼ ♫
tags: alternate universe - different first meeting, hook-up, canon related, no archive warnings apply
---
On his way back from the bathroom, someone launches himself at Tine with so much force that the two of them nearly go down in a pile of limbs.
"Sorry, got excited," the guy says, brushing invisible dirt off of Tine's shoulder as he rights the two of them. "Hey, Tine, we need a fourth player for beer pong. You in?"
This close, Tine can smell the beer on Man's breath. He recognizes Man mostly as the guy who was really into Tine's brother a few years ago, but that's the extent of their connection. The party, some university-sponsored mixer themed around Valentine's Day, is full of other seniors that Tine's never met, including the other guy waiting at the ping pong table that Man gestures to. Tine hadn't even wanted to come, but Pear had convinced him.
Tine opens his mouth to protest, but Man drags him along, surprisingly sturdy considering how he'd just barrelled into Tine moments before. "Fine," Tine says mostly to himself. He has the feeling that resistance is futile. "I'll play."
Man deposits Tine across from a tall guy picking something out of his teeth with his pinky nail. "Where'd Sarawat go?" Man asks him, and the other guy shrugs. The name sounds weirdly familiar.
"I'm here," Tine hears behind him. He turns, and he's met with a face like something out of a 90s rom-com. Sarawat has teen heartthrob energy all over him, from the long hair that flops softly in front of his face to the way he holds himself, his posture casually cool. Tine is not a teenager anymore but his heart does throb at the sight. It's either that or the chili prawns he'd had earlier.
"This is Tine," Man says to Sarawat.
Sarawat nods at Tine. "You any good?" he asks, leaning into Tine's space for a private conversation.
"Honestly, my aim is shit," Tine confesses.
"Tine's a five-time beer pong champion," Sarawat announces to Man and the other guy, Boss. "You'd better watch your backs."
The attempt at intimidation doesn't pan out. Tine's aim actually is shit and he's downed three cups of beer before he actually makes a shot.
"Here," Sarawat says, coming to stand behind Tine. He reaches across Tine's chest to wrap a hand around his wrist. His face is near enough for Tine to feel the puffs of breath on his cheek. "Like this," Sarawat says. He pulls Tine's forearm back, then releases it in a gentle glide. "You'll want more arc in your shot."
Tine doesn't breathe until Sarawat steps back. The beers seem to hit him all at once and he knows that he's gone red in the face, not just from the rush of intoxication. "Thanks for the tip," he says. "I'm not sure it's going to help."
"It'll totally help," Boss says from across the table, shooting Tine a very sarcastic OK gesture.
"You've got this," Sarawat tells Tine.
Tine aims for one of the cups closest to their side of the table, imitating the arc that Sarawat had shown him. For one precarious moment, no more than a half of a second, the ping pong ball spins around the cup's inner rim, threatening to bounce back out, before it splashes into the full cup. "Fuck yes," Tine shouts.
Sarawat slings an arm over Tine's shoulder, pulling him in for a hug. His hold is firm, crushing Tine to his chest in a way that Tine hasn't been hugged for a while, like that single sunk cup has made Sarawat's entire night. Like they're already friends. It's kind of weird, but Tine doesn't mind.
"Uh, guys," Man says, "you're still losing."
The game ends with Sarawat and Tine having downed all ten beers. Man and Boss perform a victory dance that appears choreographed and involves a lot of hip thrusting. "Man spends too much time on TikTok," Sarawat explains grimly. To the two of them, he says, "Stop, you're scaring Tine."
"You're fine," Tine says, averting his eyes from Man's spanking motions, mildly horrified at the thought of Man with his brother. "I'm going to go find my friends." Sarawat is still looking at him, so he adds, "I'll catch you later?"
"I'll be around," Sarawat says, nodding.
Tine is accosted again as soon as he turns the corner. Phuak grabs him by the arm and Ohm pushes him from behind as Fong, the only person with a shred of normalcy among them, watches. They dump Tine at an empty table and slam a drink down in front of him.
"Since when do you know Sarawat?" Phuak asks.
"I don't?" Tine says.
"You looked like you were getting along," Fong says.
Tine lifts his beer, then sets it down. "How do you know Sarawat?"
"Buddy, people on Facebook sell his used water bottles," Ohm says, already typing furiously on his phone. "Everyone knows who Sarawat is."
Ohm holds up his phone. Tine isn't sure what he expected—it's a picture of an empty plastic bottle. ♥ Sarawat's water bottle from winter carnival show! Only serious offers! ♥ He skims the comments below, where two girls named Miaw and Nan appear to be in a bidding war. "1,000 baht?" Tine asks, eyes bulging.
"You're a cheerleader, how have you not heard of Sarawat?"
Tine shrugs. The name had sounded familiar, but Tine feels like he would've remembered a face like that. "I don't know. Being oblivious is kind of my thing, you know?" After all, it had taken him four months to realize that the girl he liked freshman year was dating another girl, and when he'd told his friends, expecting this to be a big revelation, they'd all looked at him like duh. "Anyway, we were just playing beer pong."
"Do you think you can get him to introduce us to some of his fans?" Ohm asks. He turns his phone to Tine again, showing him an Instagram picture of a reasonably good looking girl. "She's part of Team Sarawat Wives."
"I'm not going to bug him," Tine says. He feels off all of a sudden, like something heavy is sitting on his chest and he doesn't know what to do with his hands for some reason. He stands, downing the rest of his beer in one chug. "I'm going to the bathroom."
Tine doesn't go to the bathroom. He wanders around, aimless, until he ends up running into Pear and her girlfriend at the bar and they spend ten minutes chatting. "Earn's the president of the music club now," Pear tells him, beaming proudly at Earn.
"I'm the only one who wanted the job," Earn says, with the sort of false modesty that says yeah, and I also deserved it.
Tine watches as Pear catches Earn's hand in hers, their delicate fingers intertwining, and that weird, sinking feeling returns with a vengeance. It's not like he still likes Pear or anything, because that was freshman year and he's had other crushes since then, but he doesn't understand why seeing the two of them together kind of hurts.
"That's awesome," he says. Then, falling back on the same line he'd used earlier, he excuses himself. "I've got to go to the bathroom. Let's catch up sometime."
He heads for the door to the patio, rubbing his palms against his eyes. The beer is getting to him, a fog clouding his brain. When he opens his eyes, Sarawat is standing in front of him.
"Are you okay?" Sarawat asks, reaching out to steady Tine with a hand at his elbow.
"I'm fine," he says, "just going to get some air."
"I'll come with you."
Sarawat holds the door open for Tine. There are a few people milling around the patio; a group of dudes smoking cigarettes around a picnic table, a couple having an argument in hushed, bitter tones in the corner. The music from the club is muffled as the door shuts behind them, and Tine sucks in a breath of fresh(-ish) air.
"I'm seriously fine," Tine tells Sarawat. "You can go back with your friends."
"It's cool, I wanted to get some air too," Sarawat says. He settles down on a bench next to Tine.
He's not sitting any closer than they were during the game, but out here, just the two of them, it feels different. Sarawat is looking at Tine, his gaze almost expectant. Tine clears his throat. "So, what's your faculty?"
"Political science, international relations department."
"Very, uh, international," Tine says.
Sarawat laughs. He looks a lot less cool when he smiles, toothy and kind of dopey, but Tine likes that. "That's a word for it. What about you?"
"I'm in the law faculty."
"So you must be smart," Sarawat says.
Tine shakes his head. "Not really. I think I'm actually pretty dumb," he says. "Good thing I'm cute, right?"
"You're cute, but I'm sure you have a lot of other things going for you," Sarawat says, and Tine stops listening after you're cute. The way Sarawat drops his voice, like it's a secret shared between the two of them, makes Tine wonder. But also—maybe he'd just been repeating what Tine'd said. Nothing more.
"What do you like to do?" Tine asks, grasping for something to distract him from the possibility of Sarawat flirting with him. "Like hobbies, I mean. I don't know what I'm asking."
Tine loses track of how long they sit there talking. He can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket, probably texts from his friends asking where he's gone, but he ignores it. Tine learns that Sarawat played football for his faculty team until he hurt his knee, that he plays guitar in a band and serves as the reluctant vice president of the music club alongside Earn. Sarawat smiles fondly when he talks about his two best friends, laughs when Tine makes a joke about Sarawat's name. In turn, Tine talks about his brother, and how he likes cheerleading because he likes making people smile. It's easy to talk to Sarawat, the words flowing naturally between them.
"What kind of music do you listen to?" Sarawat asks when Tine say that he's always wanted to learn to play guitar.
"Scrubb," Tine says.
"And?"
"Just Scrubb?"
Sarawat squints at him. "You only listen to one band?"
"Hey! They're the only band you need," Tine says. He holds up his hand, ticking off on his fingers. "They have songs for happy occasions, songs for when you're sad, songs for being in love. There's a Scrubb song for every situation."
"Is there a Scrubb song for this moment?" Sarawat asks.
"There is, let me think," Tine says, sitting back to take in the mood. They're still mostly alone out here, seated at a bench under a canopy of vines and fairy lights. Tine feels pleasantly floaty instead of dizzy now, sentimental for a time and place that is happening in the present. He thumbs through Scrubb's discography on his phone and stops at Together. "This one."
He presses play. The opening drum beats make him smile. Together has always been one of his favorite Scrubb songs and he was right, it is the song for this moment. Sarawat sings along, mostly under his breath, but Tine can hear the sweetness in his voice, easy on his ears.
"You sing well," Tine tells him.
"Our lead singer is better." Sarawat shrugs.
"No, but I like—" he doesn't know enough about music to put it into words, and he feels dangerously close to saying something stupid instead like I like that thing you're doing with your face when you look at me. He wonders if that would ruin the mood, if all of this is only in his head and Sarawat is just humoring him by not going back inside a half hour ago. "I like your voice," he finishes lamely.
"Then you should hear it properly," Sarawat says. As the song winds down, fading out into a silence that feels audible, Sarawat touches Tine's knee. "Tine, I know this may be forward, but do you want to get out of here?"
"Get out of here?" Tine asks, as though there could be another meaning, because he may be oblivious but he knows what the hand on his knee is implying. He swallows, mouth dry.
Sarawat's thumb traces a slow path along the curve of Tine's knee. "And go back to my place," he says.
Tine could say no. He could go back inside, find his friends, and let them all crash at his place. Sarawat's gesture is not lecherous or overbearing—he's giving Tine an out, the space to say no, and Tine, fear be damned, doesn't want to take it.
"Yeah," he says, "let's go."
Sarawat's apartment is a mess. Tine nearly trips over a pile of boxes before Sarawat turns the lamp on.
"Sorry," Sarawat says, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't expect to have company."
"It's fine," Tine says.
They hadn't spoken much on the taxi ride home. Tine had spent most of the trip staring straight ahead, watching the traffic through the windshield, eyes darting back at Sarawat every now and then. Sarawat was looking back every time.
Here, in the dim glow of a lone desk lamp, Sarawat is still looking at Tine. Something in his gaze sends a shiver down Tine's spine. Sarawat hasn't touched him since that hand on his knee earlier, but Tine can feel Sarawat's eyes on him like the brush of fingers against his skin.
Tine doesn't move, so it's up to Sarawat to take a step forward. He winds an arm around Tine's waist, pulling Tine in until their bodies are nearly flush against each other. "Hi," Sarawat says in a low voice.
"Hi," Tine says back.
"You good?" Sarawat asks.
They'd spent so long talking that Tine's buzz has mostly worn off by now and his head is clear. He knows what he's doing. "I'm good," he affirms.
Sarawat leans in first, but Tine meets him halfway, slanting their mouths together. Tine has kissed other people before, but none of those kisses have made him weak in the knees like this. He reaches up, grasping Sarawat by his upper arms, something to steady him. Sarawat's mouth parts, tongue swiping along Tine's lower lip and Tine lets out a noise from the back of his throat, a whine. In response, Sarawat lifts his hands to Tine's face, kissing him harder, with intent behind it.
"Do you want to—" Sarawat asks, gesturing back to the bed, and Tine whimpers back a yes.
Sarawat's bed is just a mattress on the floor, sheets tangled at the foot of it. Tine ends up on his back with Sarawat climbing over him, knees straddling either side of Tine's hips. Sarawat's bangs flops down in his eyes as he leans down to kiss Tine, and his hair tickles Tine's forehead. Tine lets his hands slip under Sarawat's jacket, sliding it back and over his shoulders.
They pull apart long enough for Sarawat to get his jacket the rest of the way off and then he's grasping at the hem of Tine's shirt, tugging it up until most of Tine's chest is exposed. Sarawat stops moving, his hand stilling on Tine's abdomen.
"What?" Tine asks. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, the heavy thump of it, a combination of arousal and nerves.
"You're just," Sarawat says, "a lot."
"Is that a good thing?" Tine asks, gasping as Sarawat brushes a thumb over one of his nipples.
Sarawat ducks his head, laughing. "It's a very good thing," he says, and lowers his mouth to Tine's neck. He sucks wetly on the skin under Tine's jaw, long and hard enough that Tine knows it will leave a mark.
Tine lifts his hand, tangling his fingers in Sarawat's hair. He can feel Sarawat's cock hardening. Tine spreads his legs and Sarawat grinds down, his hand squeezing around one of Tine's thighs for leverage. The friction of it has Tine wanting more—more skin on skin, more touching. "What do you want?" Tine asks.
"Anything you'll give me," Sarawat says. His voice is soft, full of sincerity that feels too big for the moment. "I want to taste you. Can I?"
"Fuck," Tine breathes out. "Yes, yes."
As Tine tugs his shirt up over his head, Sarawat fumbles with Tine's button and zipper. Even the brush of his hand against the bulge of Tine's cock has Tine arching his back, stretching up for more. When his pants are finally off and Sarawat touches him, no fabric in the way, just his warm, calloused hand around the length of Tine's dick, Tine makes a strangled noise.
If Sarawat looked good at the club earlier, he looks even better now with his mouth, kiss-swollen and parted, hovering over Tine. He's still watching Tine when he lowers his head to suck around the tip of Tine's cock. His mouth moves impossibly slow, lips trailing down to the base of Tine's cock, slick with spit. He's teasing. Just as Tine thinks he might knee Sarawat in the face if he doesn't do something, Sarawat swallows down around Tine's length.
Tine curses. He's got his hands in Sarawat's hair again, pulling on the strands as Sarawat takes more of him into his mouth. Tine can't stop himself from pushing his hips up and there's an apology on the tip of his tongue, a fuck, sorry, but Sarawat takes it, a muffled moan around Tine's cock. Sarawat likes this as much as he does, Tine realizes. The thought makes his brain go fuzzy.
"Wait," he says, touching Sarawat's jaw. Sarawat blinks up at him. "I want you to—"
Sarawat pulls off Tine's cock, his chin wet. "You want me to fuck you?" Sarawat asks, letting his fingers trail along Tine's inner thigh. Tine doesn't know how Sarawat can say something like that so easily when the thought makes Tine flush hot all over, but then again, Sarawat has been the one leading Tine this whole evening.
"Yeah," Tine says. He swallows thickly. "If you want."
"I want," Sarawat echoes. He gets his clothes off quickly, while Tine lies there, feeling exposed without the heat of Sarawat's body on top of him. Sarawat leans over him to root around in his bedside table and tosses back a bottle of lube and a condom.
"How do you want—" Sarawat makes a series of vague hand motions that make Tine laugh. He doesn't remember if he's ever laughed while hooking up with someone. "I'm asking what's good for you."
"Anything," Tine says. He means it.
Sarawat smacks a hand against Tine's thigh, not hard enough to sting but Tine isn't sure he would've minded. "Okay then," Sarawat says, nudging Tine onto his stomach. "Like this?"
Tine sucks in a breath that's muffled by the pillow. "This is good."
His body gives a small jerk when Sarawat touches him, a palm flat against the middle of Tine's back. He can feel Sarawat waiting until he relaxes, then Sarawat's hand dips lower, fingers trailing along each of Tine's vertebrae until he reaches the swell of his ass. Tine can't see Sarawat from this position, but he can practically feel the heat of Sarawat's eyes on him.
Sarawat leans down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Tine's shoulder blade at the same time that his slicked fingers press against Tine's entrance. He's smooth, Tine has to admit. He pushes one finger past Tine's rim, slow and exploratory. Tine tries not to grind his dick down against the bed. "Don't tease," he whines.
"Patience," Sarawat says, but he adds another finger, sliding them in to the knuckle, opening Tine up.
Tine pushes back against Sarawat's fingers. He wonders if all musicians are this deft with their hands, or if it's just Sarawat who seems to know how to take Tine's body apart. He has Tine gasping, fingers fisting into the sheets, sweat matting his hair against his forehead. By the time Sarawat is pushing the head of his cock inside him, Tine is so close to the edge that one good thrust might send him over. Sex has never been like this before.
Sarawat folds over him, kissing Tine on his neck and his shoulders, biting down and then mouthing over the marks. He's no longer teasing, one hand gripped around Tine's hip for purchase as Sarawat thrusts into him, as though their bodies could get any closer.
"Right there," Tine pants out, spreading his legs wider. He can't get his hand in a position to jerk himself off but it doesn't matter when Sarawat's cock is pushing relentlessly against his prostate and Tine's own dick is rubbing against the bed with every thrust.
Tine comes with a shaky breath, mumbling, "Fuck, Wat." Sarawat's nails scrape down his back as he fucks Tine through it. "Keep going," Tine tells Sarawat, even though there's a mess of come smearing across his abs and his whole body feels oversensitive. It doesn't take long until Sarawat is also groaning, his hips stuttering, and Tine can feel the pulse of his cock as he comes.
Sarawat drops himself down against Tine. He's still inside Tine, which is kind of weird, especially with Sarawat's sweat sticking to Tine, but also kind of hot. Sarawat reaches up and strokes a hand through Tine's hair. "I'll move in a second," he says.
"Don't be lazy," Tine says. "I need to shower."
"I'm going, I'm going." Sarawat drops a final kiss against Tine's shoulder before climbing off of him.
Tine rolls over, peeling himself off of the sheets. There's jizz drying uncomfortably on his stomach, but he feels well-fucked and content. He closes his eyes, taking in the feeling.
"Who's being lazy now?" Sarawat asks, nudging Tine with his foot. "Hey, let's shower together."
Tine cracks an eye to look at Sarawat. The way he's standing blocks out the light from the lamp, fixing out a halo around the top of his head. It makes Tine laugh, because the last word he'd use to describe Sarawat after what they'd just done is angelic. He shakes his head when Sarawat gives him a questioning look. "Just a shower," he warns.
Sarawat salutes him.
Tine wakes up with his face tucked into Sarawat's armpit. There's a smear of drool on Sarawat's skin where Tine's mouth had been open, which is a little gross. Tine rolls over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He picks up his phone to check the time, but his phone refuses to budge from its black screen. Dead.
His movement has Sarawat stirring, sitting up to peer at Tine. His hair had dried all funny, a cowlick in his bangs pointing straight up, but he manages to look effortlessly handsome despite that. "Good morning," he croaks.
"What time is it?" Tine asks.
Sarawat holds up his phone. "Ten past noon."
After their shower, they'd laid awake for hours, mostly talking. There was a brief interlude where Tine, sleepy and unexpectedly affectionate, had rolled over on top of Sarawat and kissed him, but it'd devolved into slow, easy pecks before anything more happened. Tine had never talked to a hookup like this. He'd never fought his own impulse to sleep just to hear someone tell a boring story from high school, or let someone he'd slept with sing him a song in the dark.
"How do you feel?" Sarawat asks.
"Good," Tine says. "Last night was fun."
Sarawat gives him a satisfied look. "Do you want to go get something to eat?"
The whole night before, Tine had resisted sleep because he didn't want the moment to end. It hadn't occurred to him that morning wouldn't mean it was over. "Sure. Can I charge my phone for a bit?"
"My charger is over here."
Tine has to lean over Sarawat to reach the charging cable. As he does, Sarawat catches one of his nipples in his mouth, tongue swiping over it. "Hey," Tine says, embarrassed when it comes out more breathless than stern.
"This is a good view," Sarawat says, tugging Tine on top of him. "Stay here."
Sarawat grazes his teeth over Tine's hardened nipple, then soothes over it with his mouth, lips sucking. At the same time, he touches the other one with his hand, pinching Tine's nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations have Tine's arms shaking where they're propping him up. Heat floods to his cheeks as Sarawat kisses across his sternum to take the other nipple in his mouth.
"You're a pervert," Tine says, a whimper catching in his throat on the last syllable.
"I'm a boobs man," Sarawat says. Tine can feel the rumble of his voice against his chest.
Tine glares at Sarawat, the effect of which is lessened by the fact that he's grinding down against Sarawat's thigh. "These are muscles," Tine says.
"You have great boobs," Sarawat says, ignoring Tine. His tongue draws a circle around one of Tine's nipples, wet and messy. "I want to die right here."
Then, Sarawat is slipping a hand into Tine's underwear, wrapping his hand around Tine's cock. "Can I get you off?" Sarawat asks, like Tine would say no, like Tine would turn down anything Sarawat offered him right now. When Tine nods, Sarawat yanks Tine's underwear down until his cock is exposed and then he pushes up against Tine, wriggling his own boxers down his thighs.
Sarawat licks his palm, his hand wet when he fits it around both of their cocks. He jerks them both off like this, precum smearing wetly between them. His free hand grips Tine's ass, fingers pressed teasingly against Tine's rim.
Tine bends down to kiss Sarawat, a whimper muffled against Sarawat's mouth as he comes all over Sarawat's fist and his cock. It takes a few more strokes for Sarawat to come and this time Tine gets to see it, the way his face screws up in pleasure, head thrown back against the pillow and his hair fanned out underneath him.
When Sarawat opens his eyes, he grins up at Tine, looking very much pleased with himself. His face makes something ache in Tine's chest, tenderness blooming and filling the space where Tine's air should be. He doesn't kiss Sarawat again, because he's afraid that they'll never get out of bed at this rate, but he wants to.
Tine forgets to turn on his phone until they're sitting at a cafe near campus. He takes a sip of his Blue Hawaii ("Drinks should not be neon blue," Sarawat had said when the waitress brought it out, to which Tine had replied, "It's delicious, fuck you") and watches the unread messages roll in.
Ohm (23:04): where did you go?
Phuak (23:08): we're leaving soon
Ohm (23:08): text us back
Fong (23:45): did you get home okay?
Ohm (23:56): r u dead???
Phuak (00:02): did u go home with someone?
Phuak (00:02): lucky dog
Fong (9:13): hey, let us know that you're okay
i'm fine, Tine fires off, i'm going home today. i'll see u guys tomorrow, and then he shoves his phone back into his jeans pocket. It's not that he wants to lie, but he's not ready to face the inevitable conversation when he tells them where he's actually been.
Sarawat is watching him, silently sipping on his own Americano, but if Tine's guilty conscience is visible, he doesn't say anything. "You look good in my shirt," Sarawat says, pointing to the black t-shirt that he'd thrown at Tine before they left his dorm.
Tine looks down at the table, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks. "Do you say shit like that to everyone?" he asks.
"Just you," Sarawat says without hint of self-consciousness. "Besides, no one's ever worn my clothes before you."
Thankfully, the waitress swings by with their plates of fried rice before Tine can overthink the implications of Sarawat's words.
They're chatty on the walk back to Sarawat's dorm, Tine full and pleased and swinging another Blue Hawaii in his hand as he walks, but by the time they reach the door, they've both fallen silent.
"So," Sarawat says.
"So," Tine echoes.
They've been together for more than 12 hours now. Tine should go back to his room, change out of Sarawat's shirt and boxers, and work on his reading for Professional Responsibility. Instead, he casts his eyes around Sarawat's room, looking for some excuse to stay. He spots Sarawat's guitar leaned against the wall. "Hey, remember how I said I've always wanted to learn guitar?"
"Yes," Sarawat says before Tine's even finished his sentence. Then, apparently embarrassed to have been caught being so eager, he says, "I mean, I can't promise I'll be a good teacher."
Tine sits on Sarawat's bed with the guitar in his lap, Sarawat next to him.
"We'll start with C chord," Sarawat says. He guides Tine's fingers to the right strings on the fretboard, his hand warm and calloused against Tine's. "Use the tips of your fingers so you're not touching any other strings. Now strum."
Tine presses down, but the sound is clearly off. "Harder," Sarawat says, pointing to Tine's fingers. Tine tries again, and Sarawat repeats, "Harder."
"You're milking this, aren't you?" Tine asks, glaring at Sarawat over his shoulder.
Sarawat gives him a look like, who me? "Keep going with the C chord."
As Tine continues to play, tentatively plucking each string while also trying not to let his fingers on the fretboard falter, Sarawat scoots in closer. He leans himself against Tine's back, arm draped around Tine's shoulder. Tine can feel Sarawat's breath on his neck.
"G chord," Sarawat says, guiding Tine's fingers. There's something weirdly intimate about it, all of Sarawat's attention on him. Heat stirs in Tine's chest. "You can play almost any song you want with just a few chords. Even your beloved Scrubb."
"How long have you been playing guitar?" Tine asks, trying to be normal.
"Ninth grade." Sarawat tucks his chin against Tine's shoulder. "I begged my mom to get me lessons because I wanted to be like Desktop Error."
"Do you write your own songs?" Tine asks. His fingers have gone lax against the strings.
"Yeah," Sarawat says, "but those are private."
Sarawat tilts his head, pressing his mouth to Tine's neck. "You're doing it wrong," he says, letting his teeth scrape against Tine's skin, like he's not the reason that Tine can't concentrate. Sarawat, Tine has decided, is a menace to society.
"Then quit trying to get in my pants," Tine says, jamming his elbow back into Sarawat's chest.
"Okay, okay," Sarawat says.
(Sarawat gives up for all of about 30 seconds before diving back in, tilting Tine's head back for a kiss. The guitar ends up abandoned on the floor as Tine drags Sarawat down on top of him, hands already skimming under the hem of Sarawat's shirt to touch the hard muscle of his stomach. Sarawat mumbles something about demonstrating the manual dexterity required of a guitarist and then proceeds to show him. Tine hasn't come this many times in a 24-hour period since he was 15 and discovered PornHub.)
It's already evening by the time Tine gets up from the bed, tugging on the fresh boxers that Sarawat had thrown at his head. They've already had sex three times, and Tine is pretty sure that he's pushing the limit on how long a hook-up is supposed to stick around the next day.
"I should get out of here," Tine says.
Sarawat grabs him by the wrist. "You can stay."
"I don't know," Tine says. Maybe Sarawat is just being polite or something. "You probably have shit to do. I'm being a nuisance."
"There is nothing I would rather be doing more than hanging out with you," Sarawat says, his expression oddly serious. The intensity of his gaze makes Tine look away. "I have a bottle of whiskey I need to finish anyway."
"Are you sure?"
Sarawat's thumb strokes over Tine's wrist bone, soft and imploring. "Stay."
When Sarawat had said that he had a bottle of whiskey to finish, Tine hadn't expected him to mean a nearly full bottle of Mekhong. Tine is a lightweight, something he has not managed to fix with nearly four years of university under his belt. He can already feel the beginnings of a buzz before he's finished the first cup of Coke and Mekhong that Sarawat's poured him.
"Let's play a game," Tine demands.
"What game?"
Tine springs up from the couch, banging his knee against Sarawat's coffee table on the way. He doesn't let that stop him. He finds his jeans where he'd tossed them earlier and roots around in the pocket until he pulls out a 5 baht coin with a triumphant ha!
"The objective is to bounce the coin into the cup," Tine says, depositing an empty glass from Sarawat's cabinet onto the coffee table. He gestures for the handle of whiskey. "If you miss, you have to drink. If you make it, I have to drink. Got it?"
"If I make it, what if I want something else?" Sarawat asks.
"Depends. What do you want?"
Sarawat makes a squeezing gesture, his eyes aimed pointedly at Tine's chest.
Tine folds his arms over his chest. "You've already done more than that."
"I told you, I'm a boobs man," Sarawat says, shrugging.
"Fine," Tine concedes. "But if I make it in, I get to ask you a question. Deal?"
Tine's aim is barely any better than it had been during beer pong, but then Sarawat's aim isn't great either. It doesn't really matter; they're having fun. The Coke runs out before long and drinking cups of straight whiskey flavored with the dregs of soda for missed cups. Sarawat is the first one to land a shot and he's much too eager to give Tine's left pec a firm honk. Tine's laughing when he makes his next shot, barely paying attention, but naturally, this is the one that lands.
Now, faced with the pressure of coming up with a question, Tine's mind draws a blank. "Um, when you were trying to show me how to play beer pong—were you flirting with me?"
"Yes," Sarawat answers.
"Did you know then that you wanted to take me home?" Tine asks.
"One question," Sarawat says. "Your rules."
Fuck the rules, Tine wants to say, because it suddenly feels important to know if Sarawat knew that he wanted Tine from the start, but Sarawat only gives him a smug look as he fishes the coin out of the cup.
Three shots later, Sarawat's coin plinks into the open cup.
Tine huffs a sigh and spreads his arms wide. "Go for it," he says.
This time, Sarawat doesn't just squeeze. His fingers dig into the flesh of Tine's underarm, tickling. Tine squirms away, laughing, and this only eggs Sarawat on. He leans into Tine, using both hands to stroke the sensitive skin along Tine's sides. "Stop," Tine wheezes, flopping back against the couch.
He throws an arm over his face as he tries to catch his breath, still laughing. Then, Tine hears the click of a camera shutter, and he abruptly stills.
When he lifts his arm, he sees Sarawat grinning fondly at his phone, aiming it at Tine. "Don't," Tine says.
"What?" Sarawat asks. He's typing something now and Tine feels a lump forming in his throat.
"Don't post it."
"Why? You look cute," Sarawat says, turning his phone around to show Tine the picture of him. His face is partially covered but it's obvious that he's laughing. In the picture, the hem of his shirt (not his shirt—Sarawat's shirt) has ridden up to reveal a strip of his belly.
"It's not that," Tine says, tugging down the shirt as he sits up. "I don't want my friends to know that I'm with you." As soon as the words leave his mouth, Tine knows that he's fucked up. Sarawat's face goes tense, his mouth set in a straight line, the night's playful mood gone in an instant.
"It's not because of you," Tine says, grasping at anything to fix the sour look on Sarawat's face. "My friends don't know that I'm—"
"That you're what, Tine?"
"That I'm bi," Tine says in a quiet voice.
Here's the thing: if Tine tells his friends one secret, then the rest will come spilling out. Like how during the freshman year carnival he'd let an architecture student named Chat kiss him behind the education building, and how that, his first kiss with a guy, had made his legs feel like jelly, and how he'd known then. And how he'd only started dating Wan to prove to himself that he could still do it and that he'd actually really liked her, which made it even more confusing, because he'd never known anyone that liked both. And how this wasn't the first time that he'd lied about who he'd gone home with, which made him feel like shit.
"I just don't want the way anyone looks at me to change."
"You know, it's kind of messed up that you're willing to sleep with men but you're not willing to admit to it," Sarawat bites out.
"Why does it matter to you anyway?" Tine asks. "I'm sorry you can't post a picture of the guy you hooked up with?"
Sarawat laughs, small and bitter. "Is that all I am to you?"
Tine doesn't say anything, because he doesn't know how to answer the question. Sarawat stands up and crosses the room to sit on his bed.
"Do you want me to leave?" Tine asks.
"No."
Tine lies back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His face feels hot like he might start tearing up if he doesn't reel his emotions back in. He's equal parts mad at himself for ruining the mood and mad at Sarawat for not getting it. On the other side of the room, Sarawat is quiet for so long that Tine is sure he's fallen asleep, until he's dragging himself and his comforter over the couch.
"Scoot over," he demands.
"What are you doing?"
"You're going to get cold," Sarawat says. He tucks himself into Tine, a bony elbow jabbed into Tine's side and a knee narrowly missing his balls. It isn't until the warmth of Sarawat's body is surrounding him that Tine realizes he had been shivering.
"Thanks."
The silence stretches out between them again. Tine closes his eyes and focuses on the noise of the aircon, the feeling of Sarawat's hand against his waist. For the last day, he'd been wrapped up in the moment, the space next to Sarawat a place where no one else could reach him. It was stupid to think they could keep going without letting the outside world in.
Finally, Tine swallows around his discomfort and asks, "Are you gay or bi?"
"I'm gay," Sarawat says.
"And you—how did you know?"
"I never really had crushes," Sarawat says. "I thought I liked this girl in my class, but I never did anything about it. And then freshman year, I saw this guy, and everything I felt about him in a moment was stronger than anything I'd ever felt before. I knew that was what it was supposed to feel like when you actually liked someone."
"Did you confess?" Tine asks.
Sarawat's hand squeezes tighter. "No, I never did."
"I didn't always know," Tine says, "and for a long time I thought that meant that I was wrong, or just confused." He's never talked about any of this out loud. "But now I know. Who I am and stuff. You—you're not an experiment or anything. I'm just bad at speaking up."
"Hey," Sarawat says. His hand touches Tine's head, fingers carding through his hair. It's comforting. "Just go to bed, nuisance."
Tine closes his eyes, and lets Sarawat's fingers in his hair lull him to sleep.
"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" Tine asks as he pulls on the third pair of boxers that Sarawat has offered him at this point. "You're going to run out of clean clothes."
Sarawat steps closer, lifting the towel from Tine's neck to begin patting his hair dry. "Tine, if I wanted you to leave, I would tell you."
Tine had been the first to stir that morning, eyes squinting at the sun streaming in through Sarawat's gauzy curtains. He wasn't sure how Sarawat would react with their fight behind them, but he'd only wrapped his arms around Tine's middle and tugged him in for a kiss, no different than the morning before. He'd then rolled over and gotten up to make them omelettes with the last three eggs in his fridge, so Tine guessed that meant they were okay.
Sarawat had sat next to him on the couch while they ate, knees knocking against Tine's. He was eating with his eyes half-closed, bedhead a mess. Tine had thought that he could get used to waking up like this, and then he reprimanded himself for getting invested in what is ultimately just a hook-up, because Sarawat is going to be tired of him real soon probably.
"Do you want to go somewhere? Like actually leave your apartment today?" Tine asks.
"I have you here, why would I need to leave?" Sarawat says, letting the towel flop down in front of Tine's face.
"You really want to spend the whole weekend inside?" Tine scoffs.
Tine hadn't meant to guilt trip Sarawat, but he'd started rummaging around in a pile in the corner and emerged holding a football, looking at Tine with an eyebrow raised.
The park near Sarawat's dorm is surprisingly empty for a Sunday. Sarawat leads Tine to an empty patch of grass, then promptly begins showing off by juggling the football on his sneaker.
"I thought you couldn't play," Tine asks.
Sarawat lets the ball fall to the ground, then uses the side of his foot to pass it to Tine. "I can play, just not competitively," he explains. "So don't tackle me or anything."
It's clear that Sarawat isn't giving it his all as they pass the ball back and forth, but Tine can see from the way he moves that he must've been good. Tine's only football knowledge is what he's picked up from cheering on the sidelines of games; none of his friends are jocks and his older brother had turned up his nose at the idea of outdoor activities from an early age. Sarawat, meanwhile, looks like a natural athlete. Tine watches him lift his shirt to wipe his forehead, abs shiny with sweat, and suddenly feels immensely jealous of anyone who got to watch him before his knee injury.
Sarawat meets Tine's eye when he drops his hem, catching Tine in the act of staring.
"You think just because you have a fanclub that you're good looking or something," Tine bluffs.
"And you don't?" Sarawat asks.
Tine shrugs, faux casual. "You're alright."
For that, Sarawat kicks the ball directly at him. Tine dodges around it with a "Hey!"
It's too hot to play for much longer. Tine collapses first down onto the grass and then Sarawat follows him down, sweaty arm pressed against sweaty arm as they lie on the ground. When Tine turns his head, Sarawat is grinning up at the sky.
On an impulse, chest clenching at the sight of Sarawat's happy expression, Tine asks, "Did you bring your phone?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Let's take a selfie," Tine says.
Sarawat looks at Tine out of the corner of his eye.
"I've decided that I'm tired of hiding," Tine says, and makes a hurry up gesture with his fingers before he lets himself take it back.
Sarawat stretches the phone up above them. Tine presses in closer, tilting his head towards Sarawat's, and smiles.
Tine is pleasantly exhausted when they get back to Sarawat's dorm. Fresh air and sunshine had done them well. He collapses down onto Sarawat's couch, not caring that his shirt (well, Sarawat's shirt) is sticky with sweat.
"Here," Sarawat says, placing a mug of water down in front of Tine.
"Thanks," Tine says. "Hey Wat, let me see those pictures you took."
Sarawat unlocks his phone and hands it to Tine. "I'm going to the bathroom."
The most recent photo they'd taken has the two of them pulling faces—Sarawat winking at the camera and Tine grimacing, a peace sign held up next to his squinted eyes. Tine swipes to the next picture, which is blurry and out-of-focus, then to the next one. It's this version of Sarawat's face that Tine likes the best. He's smiling, lips parted to show his teeth, cheeks soft and flushed. Tine'd had to make a joke to get this smile out of him. In the picture, Tine's gaze is turned to Sarawat. His chest tightens looking at the photo, his own unmasked affection captured in that moment.
He's pretty sure you're not supposed to feel this way about a one-night-stand, or a two-night-stand, or whatever they are at this point.
Tine thumbs through to the next picture, laughing to himself at the contrast between Sarawat's candid smile and the cool expression he'd initially worn. He swipes again, but the picture isn't one from today. Tine almost swipes back to their selfies, except he realizes something.
It's a picture of him.
In this picture, Tine's at the library. his head resting on his palm as he reads something off his laptop. It's zoomed in so far that it's gone grainy, only Tine in the picture. Tine doesn't remember when this was, but it's clear he hadn't known anyone was taking his picture. He certainly hadn't known that Sarawat was taking his picture.
"You know, I don't think I even have your Line ID yet," Sarawat says as he re-enters the room, drying his hands on his shorts. "Send those pictures to yourself if you want."
Tine holds up Sarawat's phone. "What's this?" he asks, mouth dry.
Sarawat's eyes go wide. "Tine, I—"
"Why do you have a picture of me on your phone?"
Sarawat jerks his phone out of Tine's hand. "I can explain," he says.
"Then explain."
He sits down on the other side of the couch, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "When I was a freshman, I saw this guy at open house that made me feel something I'd never felt before, but I was too afraid to talk to him, so I just let him go. And then I spent the next three years wondering if I would ever see him, see you again."
Sarawat's voice is soft and distant, like he's remembering that first moment. Tine finds it hard to breathe.
"And then I saw you," Sarawat continues. "In the library. So I took your picture so I wouldn't lose you again. And then it turned out that Man knew who you were because he dated your brother, so I found you on IG. He's the one who asked Pear to get you to come to the mixer, not me."
"So all that stuff you asked me at the beginning, you already knew all of it, huh?"
"It wasn't like that."
He thinks back to Man introducing him at the table, This is Tine, and the way Sarawat had leaned into his space. "You acted like I was a stranger to you. Were you just messing with me?" Tine asks, standing up.
"Tine," Sarawat says, catching Tine's wrist in his hand. "I wasn't trying to trick you."
"You played with my feelings."
Tine's clothes and belongings are scattered around Sarawat's room. He finds his keys in his jeans pocket, yanks Sarawat's charger out of his phone, all while his head is spinning.
Sarawat tries to stop him at the door. "I didn't mean to lie to you."
"Then when did you plan on telling me?" Tine asks. When Sarawat doesn't answer, Tine pushes past him.
Tine's dorm, unsurprisingly, looks the same as it did when he'd left it on Friday night, untouched over the weekend. There's a pile of clothes on the floor next to his bed, shirts he'd tried on before settling on the one that's still somewhere in Sarawat's room.
He sinks down onto his bed. His phone buzzes in his pocket and for a moment, Tine thinks it must be Sarawat, until he remembers that they'd never exchanged Line IDs. Instead, it's Fong checking in on him.
Fong: haven't heard from you
Fong: are you okay?
Tine: can you come over?
Fong shows up within 20 minutes. "What's wrong?" he asks as soon as Tine opens his door, and then, "Whose shirt is that?"
Tine tells him everything. Maybe it's because Fong has always been Tine's closest friend, the most nonjudgmental of their group, or maybe it's just that Tine's been waiting to spill these secrets for longer than he'd realized. Fong takes it in stride, listening without interrupting, placing a comforting hand on Tine's knee when he admits he hadn't wanted to tell them for fear of judgment.
"Can I say something?" Fong says after Tine has explained the picture on Sarawat's phone.
"Yeah."
Fong's words are measured. "Are you really upset about the photo?"
Tine picks at the worn hem of Sarawat's shirt. There's a thread coming loose and he wraps his finger around it. "He could've told me," he says. "Instead of treating me like a joke I wasn't in on."
"Here's what I think. Maybe he went about it the wrong way, but he wanted to get to know you, and love makes people do stupid things."
The word love hits Tine like a punch to the chest. He tugs harder on the thread.
"Is it about him lying to you?" Fong asks. "Or is it that you're scared?"
Tine resents how well Fong knows him.
"You like him," Fong says. "I haven't seen you like someone this much in a long time. I understand why you're mad." He pats Tine's knee again. "But if you want it, don't let the opportunity slip by."
Fong leaves him then ("I think you need some time alone"), and in the privacy of his room, Tine does the one thing that has always made him feel better—he listens to Scrubb. He queues up the entire Club album and closes his eyes.
It doesn't work this time, because now Scrubb and Sarawat are all tangled up in his mind. Every song reminds him of Sarawat's smile, or the easy way he'd laughed at Tine's jokes, or the feeling of their hands intertwining on top of the bed sheets. It doesn't feel fair that Sarawat had come into his life so suddenly and made Tine feel so many things at once. Tine hadn't gotten a say in whether or not he'd been dragged into that game of beer pong, but if it'd been left up to the laws of the universe, if they hadn't met—
Tine remembers what Sarawat had said about seeing him freshman year: everything I felt about him in a moment. Sarawat knew in a split second. The least Tine could do was know after 42 hours.
"Are you back for your pants?" Sarawat asks when he opens the door.
"I'm back for you," Tine says. And maybe also the pants, at some point, because those are his favorite jeans, but that's not what's important right now.
Sarawat tries very hard to keep his face neutral. Tine can tell from the way his jaw clenched and the slight tremor in his hand on the door, holding it open to look out at Tine.
"Can I come in?" Tine asks.
"You're always welcome here," Sarawat says, and moves out of the way.
Tine sits on Sarawat's bed, then immediately realizes he has too much frantic energy coursing through his veins to sit still and stands back up. He'd rehearsed his words on the walk across campus, but now that he's here, with Sarawat watching him from the doorway, the words feel heavy in his throat. "I've never met anyone like you," he ends up blurting out.
This is good. He can work with this. "A lot of people like me," Tine says, "but not a lot of people seem to want to get to know me? And you, you cared. I didn't come to the bar that night expecting to, I don't know. To meet someone like you."
"I do care," Sarawat says, stepping forward. "Tine, I never meant to trick you."
"I know," Tine says. "It doesn't matter if it was a coincidence or not. It matters more that I got to meet you. I've never met anyone who made me want to stay." This is Tine putting his heart before his fears. This is Tine knowing.
Sarawat reaches for Tine's hand and Tine allows him to take it, to let himself be pulled in. "Stay," he says, tracing his thumb over Tine's. "Stay with me and don't ever leave again."
"I have class tomorrow," Tine says.
"I don't care."
"I'm on call in Intellectual Property tomorrow."
"Don't ever leave again," Sarawat repeats, winding his arm around to pull Tine in against his body. "Be my nuisance forever."
Tine tucks his face against Sarawat's shoulder. Sarawat touches strokes a hand down the back of Tine's head, petting him gently. "I like you," Tine says into Sarawat's t-shirt. Maybe it shouldn't be this easy, but maybe Sarawat is what Tine's been waiting for too.
"I'm glad I found you," Sarawat says.
Tine posts the picture to his Instagram on Monday morning, captioned with lyrics from Together that Sarawat had called cheesy, to which Tine had replied, "You say nothing but cheesy stuff."
His friends are waiting for him outside of Intellectual Property. Phuak and Ohm each grab one of Tine's arms, accosting him immediately.
"You said you were at home," Ohm says accusingly.
"I was at someone's home?" Tine says.
Fong crams in next to Phuak. "Guys, give him some space." He grins at Tine. "He's had a busy weekend."
"Shut up," Tine says, wriggling out of their embrace. "I hate all of you."
"Now that Team Sarawat Wives have been rejected, what about his fangirls?" Phuak asks.
Tine ignores him, dropping his backpack down on the table. Thankfully, none of them appear to have noticed that Tine is wearing one of Sarawat's school shirts. Sarawat hadn't been kidding about never letting Tine leave again.
His phone vibrates. When Tine picks it up, it's a collection of new likes on his post. Tine clicks through to Instagram, opening up the picture of him and Sarawat. Looking at it, he can almost feel the warmth of yesterday's sun on his face. one person has changed everything, he'd written, and underneath it, Sarawat's reply: the one who can make me smile.
☼ ♫